


FORGES

by APendingThought



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Fíli and Kíli Brotherly Love, Gen, Hurt Kíli, Injury Recovery, Major Character Injury, POV Bilbo Baggins, Protective Fíli, Sick Character, Sick Kíli, Sick!Kili, Thorin Feels, Uncle Thorin, Whump, Worried!Fili, protective!Fili, wounded kili
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:06:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4933543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APendingThought/pseuds/APendingThought
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Events after the siege in Mirkwood. The journey to Laketown from Bilbo's point of view. Kili is badly wounded and running a fever. How will this impact the quest?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Wound Bravely Got

To think at one time a splinter from old Mungo’s chair had once been the most infernal bother! To Bilbo it seemed in some other existence, common sense and nothing more had been the chiefest means to preserving life and limb. In the heat of battle (a thing which, by now, Bilbo hoped he was very much through), one does not run headfirst into an axe blade. Avoiding dwarves and their doings altogether would have been far more advisable in hindsight. Ill met by cold, slippery stone the ragged Company sought to regain themselves ashore, free of danger. Each dwarf was soaked to his skin, bruised in every bone and wearied beyond any hardship their path had thus far lead them. That they were still alive was the real marvel, Bilbo decided. They had been whalloped and rollicked down a perilous river pursued by a legion of warlike Elves and that, really, was quite enough for one afternoon!

The unexpected siege of orcs was sugar atop a boiled sweet in Bilbo's wretched estimation. The valiant hobbit stood shivering in his badly torn waistcoat, ears still ringing from their narrow escape. How desperately he longed for the comforts of hearth and hole as he attempted, feebly, to wring out his hopelessly ruined garments. He had almost righted himself, and shook the last droplets from his toes, when a sudden cry of anguish froze his heart.  


A black shaft had pierced Kili, Thorin's youngest nephew, during the melee. Now the brave archer knelt panting and trembling on the wet stone, having barely hobbled four steps from the river’s edge. At once, the company looked to their fallen.

“Kili is wounded!” Fili, rarely more than three steps away from his brother, was first to speak. “His leg needs binding!”

“We make haste!” If the sight of his injured nephew affected him, the Dwarf King gave no sign. “There is an orc pack directly behind us!”

“Haste indeed.” Bilbo overheard Fili mutter crossly. “Give a body half a chance before his lifeblood drains away!”

“Peace, Fili.” Kili’s youthful face was very white and drawn as though warding off a malady that cut deeper than flesh or bone. “It is nothing.” 

How very worn and tired they were from their ordeal, poor Kili had got the worst of it. Good Bofur moved in closer to see if he might be of use.

“Bad, is it lad?” He knit his brow.

“I’m fine.” Kili would speak no more, lips pressed into a hard, bloodless line. He ground a torn bit of rag into the gaping wound to begin stemming the blood.  


“Bind his leg.” Thorin ordered. “You have two minutes.”

Bilbo scampered frantically across the rocks, taking great care not to slip as he approached the brooding leader of their Company. He was shaken and not a little alarmed by Thorin's manner.

“Whelp should be thankful he still has his life!” The Dwarf King’s eyes were like two flints, cast beyond the edge of the forest.

“Thankful? Thorin, we ought to be thanking him!” Bilbo spluttered, catching his breath. "Was it not his valor that breached the gates? Is it not his blood that stains the riverbed?" 

“If there be blood, then it stains his own hands!" Thorin replied. "I give no thanks for fools in my company!” At first, Bilbo was quite taken aback and knew not what to say. But the overwhelming pity in his heart for poor Kili’s suffering made him bold and from this growing well of courage did he speak his next words.

“Who was his tutor in that, I wonder?”

The little hobbit steeled himself as though expecting a blow and indeed, Thorin's great fist did quiver at his sides. But the Dwarf King only curled his lip, and his anger swiftly turned its course.

“I need no counsel from a halfling! Gather yourself and make ready!”

Disgusted, he took his leave, storming well away from the hobbit to bark stern commands at his wearied band. Bilbo thought this for the better. Many eyes were on Fili as he tended his brother's wound. Dwarves are expert fighters and, as such, possess knowledge of healing unknown to men or elves. With great care, Fili deftly wound a layer of wet sinew and linen around the injured leg. Soon the sinew would shrink and grow taut, tapering off the bloodflow and preventing further injury.

Kili’s lips set in grim determination when the task was done, the price for his boldness etched all too clearly across his pale face. Though his kinsmen offered aid, he would take none. When at last he had regained his feet, he did not meet the eyes of his Uncle, though he had been savior of them all.

Without any means to cross the water, the road to Erebor stretched ever farther from their reach. Durin’s Day was at hand and time had now become infinitely more precious than all the gold in Thrain’s kingdom. Doubtless, such fell thoughts weighed on Thorin’s mind beyond love for his kinsman.

 _‘A hurt as grievous as this’,_ Bilbo thought to himself, _‘will take no small amount of physic to set right.’_

Of a habit (for hobbits are nothing if not resourceful) Bilbo searched the fauna around the dense patch of forest by the bank. Not so much as a fern seemed even remotely familiar. This was strange country to him and he had never encountered the wild grasses and brambles along the banks of any river in the Shire. Back home, a hobbit could concoct a remedy from bits and bobs in his own larder, recipes passed down from generations. Bilbo himself knew how to mix a passing salve from honey and rendered fat, applied with tincture of foul-smelling sap. Alas, Bilbo's own knowledge did not extend farther beyond treating a bout of occasional indigestion or burn from a cookstove. Arrow wounds were as foreign to him as dragon speech.

“Oh dear, oh dear.” Bilbo wrung his small hands. “This is terrible.” In a day or two the wound would fester and then surely, a fever would take him. He prayed Oin still carried something useful in his small leather scrip that would preserve Kili until they reached fairer shores.

"We're like naked bernes in a blizzard!" Dwalin cursed. "I feel like me left arm's been hewed off without me axe!"

"We'll forge you a new one as soon as our home is reclaimed." Balin assured him.

“We'll never reach the mountain at this rate!” Gloin, ever an optimist, grumbled.

“Aye, we’re in need of a raft! I don’t fancy getting my beard wet a second time!” Oin, the more pragmatic of the two in Bilbo’s estimation, offered up his solution.

“But a raft will take days to build!” Ori objected. “Surely we’ll be too late!”

Kili’s dark eyes were watchful though he did not voice his thoughts. 

Thorin had that moment raised his hand as though to address the party when a tall shadow crept over his features. All were startled at the approach of a tall figure dressed in a tattered hide coat. In both hands he bore a long bow and a single notched arrow was aimed directly at Thorin’s heart.

“Who are you? What are you doing in these lands?”

It was Balin, eldest and most temperate among them, who addressed the strange dark man. With a fleeting wink to Bilbo, he whispered. “Providence, my lads. It appears our luck is finally beginning to turn.”  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Bard the Bowman was not at all keen on the notion of smuggling thirteen dwarves and a burglar through the guarded waterways to Laketown. His coat, however, spoke of hard times and such men are easily swayed by gold. Still, Bilbo thought his eyes were not unkind as he spoke with Balin. Kili had been first to offer up what coin he had, Fili quickly following suit. The hard man's reluctance swayed when he saw the riches offered up by the ragged company in vouchsafe for their passage.

"I will see to it that you enter Laketown unharmed." Bard vowed and Bilbo trusted somewhere in his heart that the Bargeman was a man of his word.

“I can manage.” Kili shook off his brother's guiding hand. Though it looked to Bilbo that his face grew paler and his breath came shorter, the injured archer wended his way aboard the deck by his own strength.  


Bard spoke rarely, one hand on the rudder as they drifted forth from the shore and down towards the yawning expanse of the lake.

“We reach the first checkpoint within the hour, Masters.” Bard's words cut above the excitable flurry of dwarvish chatter. “When we do, you will follow my command all without question.”

Thorin remained silent though his followers all nodded their assent with an “Aye.” or a “Hell.”

Kili rested on the broad shoulder of his brother, staring out into the mirror of the lake that bore them onward. He stirred only when Fili roused him to offer up his waterskin. Kili drank of it gratefully, wetting his chin.

“The sun will set ere we reach the town.” Fili drew his cloak tight about his shoulders. “I would our path were lighter.”

The wounded dwarf made no sound, nor seemed to hear Fili's words though his limbs shook violently with cold. His gaze was distant, as though a tiny voice hidden away had called his name. 

“Kili? Kili!”

A rash of troubled murmuring spread swift throughout the party. Alerted by Fili’s cry, Thorin moved stormily from his hushed conference with Dwalin to investigate.

“What ails him?” He demanded, placing a hand on Kili's head.

“Leave me. I am well enough.” The young dwarf muttered, fighting to stay awake as Thorin fell to one knee beside him.

Thorin’s brooding countenance did not betray his heart. To Fili he spoke sharply.

“Get a fire going.” Tearing away his own cloak, he draped it around the shoulders of his nephew. “Ori, water. Now.”

Ori rushed forth with a waterskin and a tin mug somehow secreted from the Elvish guard of Mirkwood. With the aid of Bilbo’s scrounging (he was a burglar after all), Fili managed to find scraps dry enough to build a steady blaze, using what little he could find on deck to contain the meager flames. Oin, rummaging through his scrip, sighed and shook his shaggy gray head. 

“I’ve nary more than a sleep draught left.” Said he to Thorin. “We’ve no herbs left to tend a sniffle, let alone a battle wound.”

“Dig deeper. Find anything.” Thorin looked up to meet the eyes of Bard. Their nervous bustling had not gone unnoticed by the bargeman.

"That one." Bard nodded to the hunched form of Kili. "Looks a bit peaky, aye?"

Thorin’s reply was colder than a winter sky, his manner brusque and guarded.

"Took a fall by the river. He will mend in a week's time."

“I know an arrow wound when I see one, Master Dwarf.” The bargeman's gaze was grim but not without pity.

“His hurt is _our_ affair, sir.” Spoke Fili, trying to rouse his brother to small avail.

“Oh, indeed.” Now Bard drew from his pocket a small pouch of oiled leather and held it before the Dwarf King. “Then he hath no need of this.”

“What is it?” Bilbo's eyes shone bright.

“Willow bark. Our people learned to break fevers with roots that stretched below the earth. It may not render him whole again but it should ease the pain until we reach port.”

“We are in your debt once again, human.” Thorin muttered reluctantly. Bilbo, knowing his place, bowed low to the Bargeman in thanks as Hobbits know well when courtesy is due.

Oin hummed, receiving the pouch from the bargeman with a gruff doff of his wet cap. “It will serve. Though pity we’ve no beesweets or treacle to improve the taste.”

“The pits with the taste!” Kili groaned, eyes closed fast against the pain. “I’d trade every ore in Dain’s Iron Hill for a moment’s rest!”

“Bear it a moment longer, my lad. By my beard, you shall have your rest.” Oin quickly set to his task, crouched by the small fire with the tin cup and handful of bitter bark to boil.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By luck or by blessing the winds blew quieter and the tide in its rumbling fell low, for the company were all too well acquainted with rough waters. The gray and gloomy water matched Thorin's stoic countenance as the Dwarf King surveyed his band. Kili's dark hair lay damp across his brow and he could not be easily roused. The brew from the bargeman’s pouch had taken effect though none truly knew its course. Fili kept watch over his brother with a stalwart eye, rarely moving but to comfort his kinsman. Kili's breathing grew slower as the water's temper gentled and he slept.

“He burns. Is there naught we can do?”

Bilbo crouched by Kili’s side, offering in his hands a second mug of the dark willow brew. Oin had ordered another dose upon examination of the wound which had grown foul by some vile taint.

“Burning is not always so bad a thing?” Bilbo quipped helpfully though Fili's expression did not waver. “Fevers serve their purpose oddly enough. At the very least he is warm and that is better than I can say for my poor toes.” He placed a small hand on Kili’s shoulder in an attempt to wake him.

“Come, Master Kili. It's time for more foul-tasting medicine.”

To his surprise, Kili stirred. Blinking slowly in confusion at his surroundings, he did not appear to recognize the face of the hobbit nor even his kin beside him.

"Are the forges lit?" He murmured, still wandering in dreams. “It is so warm.”

Bilbo looked to Fili in alarm. He reached out a hand to quiet him.

“Hush. Be still.”

Bilbo offered up the cup of bitter brew but Kili turned his head. Sweat gleamed on his brow.

“Come, don’t be an infant. It will make you well again. ” Fili, forcing the cup from Bilbo’s hand, held it to his brother’s lips and bade him drink. 

The dark tea trickled down Kili's beard as he swallowed it down to the last. Finally rid of the bargeman's strong brew, he settled once more against the deck and was soon lost once more in sleep.

"Wish I had my pipe." He mumbled, eyes closed. "Thieving elves. Would give my own right hand for it again."

"We're all bereft the small comforts of pipes and flasks." Fili said quietly. "For me, I would be happiest with a full belly."

Bilbo remained a moment longer, watching his charge as he breathed quietly. At the helm stood Thorin, gazing out upon the lake as still as carved stone. What dark thoughts weighed on his mind, Bilbo trembled to guess. That their quest could be doomed so close to its end made Bilbo’s heart tremble indeed. Would Thorin choose the life of his nephew over the call of the Mountain?

Fili spoke once more as his brother slept beside him.

"Since our roving age, I have been charged with his care.” Fili’s hand brushed aside damp strands of dark hair from Kili’s brow. “In that golden time, our cares were few and we knew little the perils of the Outside. We made study of the craftsmen while they labored at the forges. My brother would have fallen straight into the ore pit were it not for my watch." Fili's blue eyes shone with remorse. "I have failed him.”

“Failed?” Bilbo was dumbstruck. "Not at all!"

“If he should perish--"

"Oh surely not!" Bilbo cried. "Not with the devotion of his kin!"  


"I fear even that may not be enough." Fili’s gaze turned to his Uncle. "I have lived to watch good dwarves fall. One by one, I have seen our family diminish, felled by foes in battle or lost to the gold sickness. But by Durin's bane, I will see my own death before I see his."

It was then that Kili stirred, muttering fitfully in his dreaming.

"Uncle? Is it night?" He blinked dazedly, groping for some hazy vision that was not there. "Who has the watch...?"

"Shhh. It is the mist.” Bilbo quieted him, keeping his fears tucked safe and deep in his back pocket. “Sleep. We will soon reach shore. I for one will be thankful indeed to be on dry land."

"Land..." Kili sighed, his weary head falling back down to his breast. "I should very much like...to see land again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty basic when it comes to Hobbit Fanfiction. Sticking an arrow in the hottest dwarf was surely no accident. Jackson is on to me. I appreciate the culture contrast Jackson made between dwarves and hobbits. The love and loyalty Bilbo witnesses will become even more apparent as Kili battles his wound and the realization that he might not be invincible. I want to hurt Kili just as much as the next fan does and the call of Fili/Kili bro-ness is too classic to ignore.
> 
> But there are small moments in the extended DVD edition of my mind that meander. Those between scenes. Those non-existant dialogues I wish I’d heard. This fic exists because everyone needs a sandbox.


	2. Hospitality of Laketown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weary Party reach dry land at last but Kili's wound is getting worse and humans are unpredictable creatures.

Ever on they sailed silently through the fog, drawing their cloaks tight about their shoulders while the Bargeman steered their course. Wet and cold, beaten and wearied to the bone, misery spread quickly among the Company. A poor investment, stolen heirlooms, an ill-fated journey with uncertain outcome. Bitter murmurings soon gave way to heated arguments and Bilbo, though he could comprehend little of the Dwarvish speech, wished their anger would strike a kindling and do a body some good at least. 

Bilbo could feel a miserable sniffle coming on, chilled to his very core. He wished desperately he had never left his handkerchief at home. Wiping his nose on his sleeve, he sought quieter company with Fili and Kili. The brothers seemed content to let their elders quarrel, particularly Kili who had gone quiet again, having swallowed the last of Bard's willow bark tea. To Bilbo the feverish lad seemed no worse if no better.

A sharp cry shook them all from their discontent.

“Over there!” Ori, the youngest, pointed through the mist. "Look ho! The mountain!"

At that moment, all fell hushed and watchful. 

Bilbo quickly lifted himself up to peer over the ledge of the railing. Looming high above the white-coiled mists, the shadowy peak of Lonely Mountain rose into view. Bilbo shuddered. He had faced spiders, outwitted trolls, battled goblins, fled frightful wargs and all for this moment. Now that he could see their quest’s end, he did not like the look of it at all. 

The Company, however, being dwarves were of a very different mind. It occurred to Bilbo that although a cozy hole in the ground might seem adequate for a hobbit, the blood of ancient kings ran through the veins of Thorin Oakenshield. Halls of splendor long forgotten, masterfully crafted pillars and fountains were as heartening to a dwarf as a warm hearth to Shire folk. Was the King at last come now unto his home?

Kili, making light of his wound, stirred from his brother’s side. His pale face regained a little color when his wondering eyes beheld the mountain.

“At last!” Fili cried. “Erebor!”

The dwarves shook off their despair and even Kili regained his feet to get a better view. But weariness soon overcame him and he once more slumped against the prow of the ship. Bilbo balked and Fili reached out to steady him with a strong arm.

“Why do you look at me so?” Kili muttered, worrying at the ragged knot bound tight about his leg. “It is no more than a scratch.”

“No. That is more than a scratch. That is an orc wound.” Bilbo hissed. “If we had any sense at all we would turn this barge right around and seek aid from the elves!”

“They would not help us.” Fili spoke bitterly. “We have come too close to the mark to stray now.”

“Bother and DRAT, where is Gandalf?” Quite a time had passed since they had last seen the gray wizard and to Bilbo it seemed as though he had abandoned them altogether. Though the gruff bargeman’s handful of bark had cooled much of the fever in Kili’s veins, it would not protect him from the taint's foul magic. He hadn't the faintest idea where the wizard could be now, all he did know was that the river seemed to flow on forever and with each passing moment, Kili's breath grew heavier and heavier.

“I do not like this at all.” 

He had not much time to dwell on the matter before all were ordered suddenly and harshly by Bard to climb back into the tattered barrels and hide.

Thorin’s growling voice was loudest.

“We’ve seen enough of these double-cursed barrels…” 

“Be glad of them lest the watch discover you.” Bard, for his part, hurried to usher the last of the party into the wet crates. “There is a checkpoint ahead. If you are spotted, we’ll be delayed under sword and bow until patrol arrives.”

Bilbo could see Thorin’s great hand curl into a fist over an axe handle that was not there. This close to journey’s end, Thorin would have seen this man of Laketown hacked in two before being forced back into the hated barrels. He obeyed hardy willing, casting an ill-graced eye on Fili as he helped Kili regain his feet.

“You there, pale one!” Bard shouted. “I’ve a smaller casket near dry from last week’s load, it will serve you better than these wet ones.”

Gratefully Kili murmured his thanks to the bargeman. Fili was happy to find not one but two smaller barrels close to the prow. Both were stuffed with straw and reeked of apples but they were indeed drier and therefore, Bilbo hoped, a little warmer.

“Let me be.” Kili hoisted himself into the barrel and had there been room enough, Bilbo was certain Fili would have climbed in with him. Once every member of the party lay hidden deep within a casket, Bard addressed them all.

“Make not a sound, any of you. There are guardsmen ahead.”

Bard was good as his word (and their coin). The bargeman had vowed to smuggle the party unseen past the Master’s Watchmen at Laketown and so he had.

But not without some humility.

Words were exchanged though Bilbo could not make them out. Silver pieces crossed several palms and tinkled loudly in their pockets. A heavy smell soon wafted over their heads, the sharp tang of brine and ash. All waited within his wooden enclosure with thumping breast and stilled breath. 

No sooner had the Bargeman traded words, when Bilbo found to his dismay a mass of slimy cold lake trout being dumped over his head.

For all this, Bilbo grumbled, holding his nose against the overwhelming stink of fish, he would have gladly swum across the frozen waters all the way to port himself.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Half the party was near senseless when at last they were freed from the blasted barrels. The rotting stink of fish clung to their beards and clothes but they were alive if not altogether sound. Fili and Kili, who had been given separate hiding places, seemed well conditioned for their troubles though Kili’s leg still weakened him. Unlike the rest, they had not been doused head to toe in fish oil and, save for a few bruises, were relatively dry and even smiling.

“Now what?” Thorin demanded. “You have brought us here, human. It is time to keep your end of the bargain.”

“We will to my home where my children wait. There will be hot food and blankets to revive you. Now follow me swiftly and make no sound. There are guards at every wharf.”

Laketown was nothing at all like the Shire, thought Bilbo, as he hurried behind the group, ducking into alleyways and niches until their way was clear. While the green hills of Hobbiton echoed with laughter, life for Laketown boys and girls was neither simple nor merry. There was little time for play with nets to be mended, hooks to be sharpened, and the day’s catch to sort and render. 

A last miserable dunking through the Lakeman’s water closet might have almost been the death of poor Bilbo but he gathered up his fortitude (of which hobbits have considerable store) and was very glad indeed to be under a roof once more. 

Bard the Bargeman kept an honest house and his small family welcomed their Father with many hugs and kisses. 

“Welcome to my home, Masters. Take your leave. My daughters will attend you.”

Exotic smells from distant shores tickled Bilbo’s nose the moment he stepped past the threshold. A man who worked the winding riverways possessed riches from distant lands, more precious than gold to a Hobbit whose kingdom was his kitchen. Vials of every curious description containing powders, leaves and syrups lined his pantry shelves. The eldest girl, Sigrid, had just lifted an iron pan of steaming gingerbread from the oven. The spicy scent of it warmed him down to his hairy toes and set his mouth to water. Though the bedraggled company would have sooner welcomed sides of mutton and distilled spirits, they gratefully accepted offerings from the smallest girl, Tilda, carrying spiced cakes to all from a pile in her apron. Though the company was wet, tired and surly from their looks, each dwarf bowed in turn so as not to fright the young thing.

Mugs of strong coffee were passed round and by and by they began to regain something of their former selves. Clay pipes were lit, dripping stockings wrung out and so they took their ease within the safekeeping of Bard’s home. Bilbo could not remember being so glad to be dry again and finally feel his poor cramped toes. 

New woven garments were handed round and each dwarf found an article to suit him as Bard’s eldest daughter washed the fish smell out of their own ragged shirts. The bubbling cauldron was already brimming to capacity as the strong lass stirred it with a heavy wooden paddle.

“I know well the chill of a dousing on a winter’s day." Bard spoke, seated at his table. "Bain has gone to fetch a barrel of wine to mull. It will soon have your blood flowing again. Until then, my house will shelter you. Take rest and comfort by my fire. You have earned it.”

“Our thanks, Bowman.” Thorin returned though he did not speak wholly from his heart if Bilbo had a say. 

Having had his fill of grousing dwarves, Bilbo took leave of them all to seek a quiet place to gather every thought in his poor stuffed up head. Unbeknownst to the party, he slipped on his magic ring and walked about the room with ease, curiously investigating the strange jars of spices and herbs. He enjoyed for the moment being absent from the group and wandered the warm dwelling to his content.

Bilbo soon found Kili, seated as close to the hearth as he dared and looking quite haggard and ill. Despite the warm food and drink, his limbs were trembling and sweat shone on his brow. He stared long into the burning embers until Bard’s small daughter came round to offer him a hunk of gingerbread.

“Are you well, sir?” Bilbo remarked that a human child was of near height to a young dwarf. Unseen, he crept in closer to hear.

“The fire has done me much good, lass.” Kili’s twinkling eyes and merry grin did not betray his anguish though, being injured, he could not bow. 

The small child wrinkled her nose. Though the archer was quick to hide it, his wound had begun to fester.

“Was that wound bravely got?” She asked, pointing to his bandaged knee.

“Would that it were!" Laughed Kili. "I was clumsy with my axe. We dwarves need a great deal of kindling to light the forges that make our trinkets and fine weapons. I brought the wrath of the Elf King for knocking down one of his trees.”

“Oh! And did you see the Elf King?” Her blue eyes grew big.

Kili made a merry wink. "His Majesty gave us good chase and it was by blessing I escaped with both legs still attached. Now this hurt is little bother for a sturdy dwarf like me nor less a sweet maid like you.”

He motioned to hurry her on her way but Bilbo’s ears pricked sharply to hear him whisper. 

“If you would fetch me some new linen and lye, I’m sure this knobby knee of mine would mend all the sooner.” He held a finger to his lips. “But keep it a secret, aye? Like an oyster hides its treasure?”

The young archer smiled and patted the top of her golden head.

“Away now my pearl, and tell no one!”

The child nodded fretfully, bounding up the staircase to the loft. Bilbo looked on with growing dread as Kili bravely clenched his teeth against the wound’s torment. No doubt the fire that had begun in his veins had regained its course and with it, Bilbo knew, the poison would only spread. What help there was for it he could not guess.

He knew he ought to alert someone—Fili or even yet, Thorin. He should warn them of this plight but in his heart Bilbo knew what disaster such tidings would bring. The wrath of his people would not ease the poor lad’s suffering nor advance their quest. Bilbo agonized from his hiding place as he watched Kili tend his leg, looking with watchful eyes to escape the party’s notice. 

The Company by now had grown restless, pondering their next move. Would they to Erebor come dawn? What of their weapons? They could not surprise the dragon Smaug unarmed! Dissent began stirring among them until Thorin’s word silenced them all.

“We wait until nightfall. For now we shelter here and rest.” 

Bilbo was glad to hear Thorin speak sensibly for once and somehow, he knew, it was Kili that had swayed him. The young archer had wrapped his leg anew with clean linens the child had brought. Bilbo watched with a heart full of pity as lye was spread into the ugly wound, which now suppurated and left a horrid stench. His limbs trembled with pain and the blood drained from his face but he made not a sound. When at last his ministrations were done, he took up his staff and hobbled to his feet to rejoin his kin. The dwarves were preparing for sleep, each finding a dry spot on the floor or tucked into a warm corner of the dwelling, wrapped in thick furs. For himself, Bilbo did not stray far from the brothers, Fili and Kili, for he wished to comfort them if it were in his power.

"Brother, you are pale." Fili spread his cloak over a reasonably inviting sack of groats by the larder.

"I am weary is all. You fuss like a goodwife." Kili found his own bed very near to the fireplace.

"I will take my leave then." Fili replied. "To bed, brother and may we both smell better come morning. If that wound should fester, look to it." 

But Kili was already fast asleep and Fili's words died in the air as they left him to flow up the chimney with the firesmoke.

Bilbo slipped the ring off his finger and tucked it safely in his pocket. The Company now lay strewn about the Bargeman’s floor, each settled in a blanket as comfortably as the oaken boards seeped in brine would allow. 

Fourteen curiously small shirts and trousers swayed gently on the line overlooking Laketown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fiction had more to say. If hurting Kili were an Olympic sport...


	3. To Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dwarves make ready to retake the mountain but first they must arm themselves.

Bilbo woke feeling a great deal better than his memory could recall. A fire was roaring in the hearth and its blaze warmed him to his toes beneath the potato sacking that had served as his down comforter. He was dry as a wick at last and for that he was above all grateful. Bilbo was quite sick of the damp. If he had learned anything on this quest, it was far better to be dry than to be anything else. The dwarves yawned and groaned from their resting places on the floor, causing quite a stir indeed throughout the small house. For the better part of an hour, they bumbled about sorting themselves, plucking down their laundered garments from the line and bickering about who owned what.  


Fili and Kili were quietest among them. Pulling his tunic and wool jacket over his head, Bilbo approached the brothers with not a little trepidation. Overnight he’d watched Kili spread grease and lye over the bloodied wound on his leg but seemed barely able to breathe with the pain of it.  
This morning the lad looked no better but at least no worse under the weak sunlight filtering through the glass. Bilbo noted that his movements were sluggish and he did not wake as vigorously as his brother who was already on his feet grumbling about breakfast. Oats and salt were boiling in a pot though many in the party refused it, calling it food for ponies (in their own language so as not to offend their host). Bilbo himself was glad to have anything hot at all in his belly and Fili, with a like mind, filled a bowl to take to his brother. Kili accepted with a grimace, glowering at Fili’s urging that he must preserve his strength. However, he ate no more than a few mouthfuls before pushing the bowl away.  


“Eat.” Fili urged. “Don’t be spoiled.”  


“Later.” Kili sighed, stirring the thick gruel idly. “I’ve no stomach today.”  


He had not got much rest by the look of it and how he would fare on the rocky slope of Erebor was quite beyond Bilbo’s imagination. Would Thorin leave behind his own kinsman? No doubt this dread lingered in the heart of Kili, making his suffering even greater a burden to bear.

“How fares our Headstrong?” The voice of Dwalin was enough to rattle the rusting pots. “Up for one more hike, laddie?”  


“Aye, and better!” Kili responded though he wrapped his cloak tighter about his shoulders. Fili smiled as he readied his cloak and braces. Bilbo guessed that he was of a same mind—that the warmth of Bard’s hearth and the fabled hardiness of dwarves had stayed the poison a little. Kili’s cheek was still pale as new milk but he was standing and breathing and that must be to the satisfaction of all.  


“For my half of the treasure,” Groaned old fat Bombur. “I’d stay abed and poke that worm Smaug. My legs were not made for mountain climbing.”  


“Make haste, all of you.” Thorin commanded. “We wait for cover of night.” To Bard he said. “You will lead us to the Armory of this Town and then we shall be beholden to you no more.”

“What mean you to do?” Bard asked. “You would surely never be able to overtake the watch.”  


“No.” Thorin agreed sullenly. “Though our lot has bandied with men in better times, we will risk no brawl this night. What we cannot buy with honest coin we must steal. For our journey’s end hangs in the balance.”  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Under shade of darkness they crept with stealth along the wharfs, taking great care to go unseen. This proved not a problem at all for Bilbo even without the aid of a magic ring. The Armory of Laketown was less a fortress and more a rotting wooden barracks, creaking with age and damp. Since the devastation of Smaug so many years ago, Bilbo thought, the people of this town had little use for tools of war. Where once these ports flowed with riches and splendor, now there seemed little left to defend and these men of the wharfs had all but forgotten the arts of battle. Simple bows of yew and pine spears served better the likes of a bargeman than mace or blade.  
Dwarves are expert locksmiths and it took little trouble at all for the greenest among them to unlatch the mechanism barring the great safe. Bilbo followed as silently as he dared but his heart was thumping and jumping so madly he thought the guards at their posts would surely hear.

Inside the stronghold was a great hall lined with rows of weapons in every shape, size and sharpness imaginable. Blades were deftly unlatched from their casings, spears, axes and daggers gathered by the armful. These were human-forged weapons crafted for the large hands of warlike men. To a little hobbit, they were ridiculous, clumsy things and Bilbo himself was content with Sting latched safely in its scabbard. Still, only fools stormed a mountain with nothing but a dagger so he aided the company as best he could, grunting mightily under the weight of a particularly ugly iron war hammer. 

Bilbo hated every wretched moment of it. His sole purpose on this quest was to be quiet and clever and here they all were making a farce of burglary. Weapons such as these were wielded with ease by thick arms, big hands and stout backs. Bilbo started at every clink and clang of metal against metal as each dwarf gathered what arms and shield plates he could carry. For a burglar, Bilbo thought ruefully, he was full of nerves and shivers.  


Fili and Kili stayed close by Thorin who had selected the largest weapons from their placements on the wall. Muscular and hardy, the two youths were entrusted with the biggest loads. Fili shouldered his burden with ease, swiftly moving with nary a huff nor puff. ‘With strength like that,” thought Bilbo. “We shall be gone faster than tea brews.  


Kili bore his load without a sound though Bilbo noted his gait seemed rather unsteady and his great arms shook with fine tremors as though he were chilled or feverish. Were he truly as hale as he would have his kinsmen believe, he would not have aroused the suspicion of his uncle.

“Can you manage, lad?” Thorin turned a watchful eye on his nephew. Through the cast of moonlight, Bilbo saw Kili’s cheeks flush.  
“Aye.” He panted, shifting the weight of his armful. “Though I would we were gone the sooner.”

Under the strain of so many weapon the narrow staircase proved perilous for his beleaguered steps. Down he came crashing over the wooden slats, stolen swords ringing out like a thousand broken glasses. For a moment, none dared breathe. Voices raised in alarm from outside and heavy footsteps could be heard scurrying about. 

Dropping his armful with a great clatter, Bilbo rushed to Kili who was nothing but a heap of awkward limb and tangled cloak. The young dwarf was trembling all over and Bilbo could feel the frantic thud of his heart against his side. Men at arms were gathering quickly around the armory and there was little chance of escape for no sooner had poor Kili risen to his feet when his throat was caught by the glint of a sharpened edge aimed with deadly intent.

“Make no move, thief!” A gruff voice spoke. Bilbo was so frightened that he nearly slipped on his ring again and fled but he could not abandon Kili who stood quaking with anger and shame at his blunder. Soon the party were rounded up and marched through the streets, a great commotion stirred up among the townspeople roused from their beds. What did their wondering eyes behold but the Dwarf King of their legends and songs being prodded like a common criminal up the steps of the Master’s Hold? Heated whispers swarmed about the midnight air, humming and thrumming like a thing alive. Soon they were halted before a growing mob gathered with torches burning bright. 

Was it He? The Great King Under the Mountain?

Had the King carved from stone returned at last or was this nothing more than a ragged band of blacksmiths and tavern minstrels?

Bilbo shivered with cold and fear. Snow fell in great white feathers across his face and the wind from the lake bit savagely at his toes and fingers.

“We are done for.” Kili moaned. “Forgive me, Thorin.”

“Quiet.” Fili shushed him. “Our fate lies in the hands of men now.”

The Master of Laketown burst forth from his grand house like a great bilious sack of hot air. Wearing a gilded robe and feathered night cap, he looked very out of sorts and ill-placed among the hardy people under his command. Words were spoken by man and Dwarf. Thorin stood tall, speaking with a voice as powerful and terrible as the Mountain itself. The hearts of the Laketown men were lifted, no doubt roused to the cause of Thorin Oakenshield whose prideful oaths backed more than just the demise of Smaug the Terrible. Much like dwarves themselves, Men coveted shining gifts of gold and silver and these things they would have in abundance once their day was won. Bilbo heard little. He stood by Fili who had all but carried his brother’s weight along the procession. 

“Water. Please.” Kili murmured weakly though none but Bilbo did heed him. He swayed on his feet, exhausted. “Water or I shall faint.”

Water is not much to ask but Bilbo at that very moment had none. All eyes were on Thorin as he spoke of his destiny, the rightful heir to Erebor come hither with his kin to retake the treasure of old. Bilbo's pity overcame him and, unnoticed by all, he slipped on his ring and forcibly pushed his way past the throng, running into the first open door he could find. Burglar that he was, he swiftly found a skin of clean water, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to find Kili. 

The crowd was dispersing in high spirit, cries of “Hail Thorin King!” rising up among the townspeople. In the confusion, Bilbo nearly lost sight of Fili and Kili who were now making their way to a banquet hall in celebration of the Mountain King’s triumphant return. 

Slipping off the ring he cried out: “Hoi! Kili! Fili! Wait!”

Kili smiled gratefully, his wan face lighting up at the sight of the little hobbit rushing hither and thither through the big strides of the men, offering up the precious water skin.

“Mister Baggins you are a wonder!” Cried Fili. 

“Hurry, drink this!” Bilbo urged, pressing the skin into Kili’s hands.

Kili gulped it down as though it were good strong mead and seemed revived by it. 

“From beggars and lowly rabble to honored guests of the Master!” Fili shook his head in wonder. “Indeed how swiftly our fortunes have shifted!”

“I do not like men.” Kili said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he lumbered on. “They are false and care nothing for our heritage. The only thing that serves them is our gold”

“Well like them or not, we are now obliged to accept their favor.” Bilbo said. 

“I am to blame!” Kili’s words were bitter. “Had I not been clumsy and given away our stealth—“

“Now brother, cheer up.” Fili kept his spirit jolly and his smile bright at his visage shone. “You know our Uncle! As though we could hide thirteen dwarves of Erebor anywhere for long! He is no longer Thorin Oakenshield but Thorin King! Let us rejoice!”

But Kili stayed pale and silent, as though the mountain's glory and the legends of old were a weight he could no longer carry.

Bilbo was ill at ease as they wended their way through the town to the Master's Banquet hall. They had gone from thieves in the night to old sung heroes in the blink of an eye! What a change in weather! He regretted losing the favor of Bard, the wise bargeman who had been such a help to them in their hour of need. Casting their fortunes into the greedy hands of the Master was not wisdom he'd expect from the Thorin Oakenshield he had met at Bag End so long ago. Now a strange glimmer lit Thorin's eye at mere mention of the word "gold" and he did not notice at all when the steps of his two nephews fell far behind the rest, to ease a suffering Kinsman.

Bilbo did not like it, he did not like it at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No sex, no pairings, no Tauriel. Writing Tolkein fanficiton is a challenge, especially when you try reading it out loud. I have only respect for the additions Jackson made to the book even if they are embarrassingly shallow. Anyway, this is my sandbox and I still want to play. The issue now is where to stop? As the fiction is from Bilbo's Point of View, it presumably ends on their send-off to Erebor if I'm to go by the film. I will have to make adjustments if I want to continue chronicling all that righteous Kili torture. There are ways, there are always ways...


	4. Misbegotten Revelry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dwarves have struck a pact with the men of Laketown and all bodes well for Thorin's quest. But what of Kili and the dark taint running in his veins? What will Fili do when fate pits his brother's life against his destiny?

Bilbo looked round himself and wondered where on Earth he was. Albeit their introduction to the Master of Laketown was at first less than hospitable (moreso by the spite of the Master's wicked little manservant), Thorin and his company had been met with cheers from the populace and open doors by the pompous Lord himself. A feast was called for, kegs of ale cracked open and the dank dark halls of the Manor were made oddly merry. Many of the thirteen were in the company of Thorin, wetting their beards with the town’s finest brew and singing songs that only their grandfathers likely remembered. Thorin was seated in a place of honor at the Master’s side, calmly feasting and perusing the long list of supplies promised by the town’s mercantile committee. It was announced that they would each be bestowed with fitting armor, even the “little Shire chap” which Bilbo took slight offense to. He had never in his life donned armor of any kind and he had no wish to start now. All around him were talks of riches and perils and tales from days when men and dwarves drew handsome profit from the other but to these matters, Bilbo was most remote and bored.  


Kili, whose cheer had been feigned admirably since their arrival, claimed he’d very little beard to wet and so had settled stiffly in a cushioned chair by the fireplace some distance away from the merriment. With listless gaze he stared into the flames, blowing soft rings with his pipe but Bilbo could sense the maelstrom stirring within his breast. Having a wish to be alone and away from the din, Bilbo hesitated to approach though he was swiftly surpassed by Fili, who never strayed far from his brother's side.

Words passed between them that Bilbo, even had he been close enough to hear properly, could not decipher for the language of Dwarves was much beyond him though he’d picked up a word or two being in their company these many months.

At length Bilbo crept away from the long table (having stuffed himself full of eel pasties and cockle stew) and slipped on the magic ring. Cloaked in invisibility, he was quite eager to know how Kili fared and what his fate might be. Fili stood waiting behind his brother’s chair, a goblet of steaming wine in his hand. 

“Kili. I am weary playing nursemaid.” Fili said crossly. “Come have some wine and stop this sulking!”

“I never asked it of you.” Kili’s brooding countenance hung over him like a stormcloud and made his every word and gesture dredged in gloom. “Let me be alone, why can’t you?”

“Your leg. It’s not healed.”

“That is not your care.” Impatiently, Kili tamped down the embers of his pipe with his thumb. 

“Say this from your heart, brother?”

“Aye, and from my mind.” Kili sighed. He hissed in pain as his fingers passed over the frayed binding on his leg. The linen cloth had grown dark with blood and a foul stench rose from it.

“You are ill.” Said Fili in all intended gentleness, pressing a hand to Kili’s brow. “Your mind is not clear.”

Kili flinched and pulled angrily away. A fell darkness seemed to overtake him, like that of a snarling animal backed into a corner. Fili started and, indeed, took one wary step away from his brother.

“Thorin will know of this.” Fili’s face was grim. “He should be warned that you are unfit to continue this quest.”

“Speak not a word to Thorin!” Kili’s lashed out and with alarming violence he was on his feet as though his leg no longer pained him. His face was inches from Fili’s, who stood his ground boldly, gazing in sorrow at his brother so changed. “I belong at his side--with you! You would not betray your own blood!”

Fili grew very pale and for a moment it appeared to Bilbo that he had lost command of his tongue. Wordlessly he made his vow, muscles tense and ready for a brawl though Kili's trembling would not withstand one blow. Bilbo held his breath. By and by the strange shadow passed from Kili’s eyes and he returned to himself, clutching his head as though shaking free a fleeting madness. He fell back into his chair, breathing heavily.

“No.” Fili spoke with care. “I would not betray my brother.....were he in his right mind.”

“Fili…” Kili said, trembling. “….Forgive me. I spoke too rashly.”

“You are weary and sick. Will you not let me help you?”

Kili shook his head. “I prefer none touch it lest it grow fouler. It will mend, by that I do swear.” A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “By my beard, while I have strength left in me I will be at your side come Durin’s Day.”

"Swear not by your beard, then. For you've many a mountain to conquer before you earn that affliction!" Fili smiled. 

The unexpected mirth brought the first laugh Bilbo had heard in days from the stricken archer.

Fili took up the goblet he had set down a moment ago and offered it to him once more.

“Drink. And may it bring you better comfort than I this night.”

Kili nodded his thanks and took a satisfying gulp as Fili left his side. The Master’s wine was very sweet and much too strong for Bilbo to have endured with equal vigor. When the cup was drained Fili withdrew with no more words, leaving his brother for sleep to claim, breath rendered slow and deep. Unseen, Bilbo crept up beside the slumbering dwarf and took a good look at him. His cheek was very flushed and hot and he had shed his cloak and outer tunic. His great fists rested in his lap and when Bilbo placed one invisible hand against his wrist to feel how quick his pulse beat, a hard and small something dropped to the floor from his limp fingers. 

Curiously the hobbit bent to pick it up. He had not the faintest idea of what it could be. A smooth stone no bigger than a man’s thumb. It was as black and shiny as a crow’s wing with beautiful carvings etched into its side that had the look of rune letters though Bilbo could not guess what they meant. 

“Bless my soul! What’s this?”

He turned it round and round in his palm, examining it though to any passerby it would appear as though an enchanted stone were levitating by itself in midair. A good luck charm if he were to guess, like a rabbit’s foot or other blessed object. Perhaps it had been given to him as a token of home, like Bilbo's own watch which he kept close in his breast pocket. Whatever the strange stone's purpose, it was doubtlessly quite dear to Kili so Bilbo carefully and quietly slipped it back into his warm lifeless hand.

“Sleep well, Thorin’s kin.” Bilbo whispered in his ear. “Sleep and dream of your waiting kingdom.”  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The next morning Bilbo saw very little of the brothers as he was roused quite early by strangers (whom he later learned were the armory keepers) to be fitted for armor before their journey. Bilbo found the entire business tedious and unbecoming, especially when no armor small enough could be found to suit his frame. 

“I’d just as soon face down Smaug in a Sunday bonnet!” He grumbled.

At the last they settled on a heavy helm that was much too big for his head and fell constantly in front of his eyes despite the strapping wrapped tight about his chin. He was eager to be done with metal suits and was glad when Thorin gathered the company upon the wharf where a great fanfare had been waiting. Thorin himself looked grand and powerful, wearing a vest of chain metal and bracers of intricately forged iron. Looking round he saw that each dwarf had donned warlike garb to suit him and were now eager to be on their way.

With difficulty Bilbo managed to get one foot inside the boat, causing only a mild splash for the clothes he’d been given were ill-fitted and he could hardly see for the blasted helm! At last he caught a glimpse of brave Kili, splendid in his armor and by every grace a Prince but for the sickly pallor of his handsome face. Last night’s rest had served him no better and Bilbo wondered what would happen if his wounded leg were to fail him on the perilous slopes of Erebor. 

However, just as the lad was about to take one step off the dock, Thorin reached out his hand and blocked his path. Bilbo blinked, straining to hear the heated words passing between Thorin and his nephew. Thorin’s gaze was tender, not cold and unforgiving as the hobbit might have guessed. Though Kili did beseech him, his Lord and King would not be moved. At last, the young dwarf was silent and with this so too did his will to keep standing for he soon found a pile of netting to rest on and hung his head in humiliation. A weariness greater than sorrow seemed to claim him and all light vanished from his youthful face. Bilbo looked on him with pity. How pale he looked, how very ill.

Now Fili’s voice could be heard above the cheers and fanfare raised by the townspeople and Thorin’s face grew graver and his tone much sterner. Oin, who had the chiefest knowledge among them of herbs and medicines, climbed ashore to tend Kili and Bilbo could not help wondering what physic he could possibly offer to ward off such a malady. Orc weapons were cruel and fashioned from malice, unlike the darts of men or elves, and their poisons promised agonizing death. Talk of loyalty and kinship flew above his head and no sooner had Bilbo managed to right himself in his seat despite the bothersome armor when the boat jolted and juddered, pushing off from its dock. Now he could see that Fili had leapt out of the berth and stood ashore now by his suffering brother.

'Likely better off.' Thought Bilbo. 'Should any ill befall Thorin on this mad quest, there must be someone left behind to preserve Durin's throne.'

Cheers and music rang out like firecrackers against the early morning sky as the barge was pushed off, clearing a misted pathway on its course. Many eyes, save Thorin’s, were on Fili as he tried to ease his brother’s distress, and many hearts were troubled not knowing further of their fate. If Thorin grieved for his nephews, he gave no sign as he now stood proud upon the bow of the ship, eyes locked on the Mountain he had fought and sacrificed so much to look upon once more. 

Yet again and again, Bilbo’s gaze drew back to Laketown, even as the shore grew smaller and fainter from sight. In his heart bloomed dread for Kili and Fili whose ends would remain unknown until after a dragon had been dealt with. Kili might succumb to his wound never once gazing upon the home of his ancestors. Or they might all perish in dragon fire and none would hear of them again.

Bilbo banished these thoughts at once and decided to keep himself firmly grounded. Kili would surely not die under the loyal watch of his kinsmen and there was certainly far more to a hobbit than the Great Worm Smaug could ever have predicted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is still room to play and though Bilbo is now far away about to outwit a dragon, Kili's fate is still burning in his mind and there is much yet to tell of elves and orcs and other meddlesome creatures.


	5. A Fire Remembered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company has at long last departed for Erebor and Kili’s life hangs by a thread. How did Bilbo learn the tale of his survival? How will the gold-enchanted King Under the Mountain welcome home his brethren?

As to the rest of our story, I would very much like to say that all went according to plan except neither Thorin nor his Party nor even Gandalf the Wizard had thought up one in the first place. Therefore it was on the small shoulders of Bilbo Baggins that the fate of all rested. How was the little hobbit to know that on this day he would outwit a dragon, win back the treasure of Erebor and defy a King all before teatime?

Setting one quivering hairy-toed foot on the forbidden gold would have been deemed valor enough to fill an entire storybook back in the Shire. But Bilbo not only set one foot down, he set two and all the rest of him into the terrible creature’s stolen den. Of course, he'd had the help of his magic ring to hide him and it was lucky that he had for dragons have keen eyes and old as he was, Smaug might have turned him to ash on site and gobbled down his bones had the great worm awoken to any creature, man or beast, shuffling through his stolen horde. 

But all that was past now and I am proud to say that Bilbo himself saw nothing overly brave or grand about his deeds. The dragon was dead at last and Thorin the mountain’s rightful King. At once, the dwarves rejoiced, to see Thorin bedecked in the ancient royal robes of his grandfather, the great King Thror. A crown of magnificent bearing sat on his head and to Bilbo he seemed very much a changed dwarf.

However, brave Bilbo would face ever so much more than a dragon and a King before he would ever learn the fate of his friends. The very night he’d stolen into the dragon’s lair was the night old Smaug in his wrath wrought fiery vengeance on the innocent people of Laketown. Bilbo wept bitterly then for he was sure brave Kili, Fili and dear Oin and Bofur had been toasted to bits and sunk to the bottom of the Lake. And what of the noble Bargeman, brave Bard and all his sweet babes? Bilbo’s heart sank fast into despair then and Bifur, Bombur, and old Gloin wet their beards in mourning for their brothers.

Thorin, now King Under the Mountain, watched the endless spires of black smoke rising from the sorrowful ruins of Laketown and covered his eyes. Of Fili and Kili he spoke no words though none reached him in that hour. Thus was his mind so bent and his heart contorted, consumed wholly by the Arkenstone concealed within the bowels of his stronghold. Yet if Kings could weep, then dragons could be slain and so fell Smaug with a tremendous crash into the frozen depths and never again was the beast whispered to plague Elf, Man or Dwarf. 

The Arkenstone. That, too, would become a matter for re-visiting.

For two days the hobbit gloomily haunted the towering gates of Erebor, feeling smaller and more alone than he had ever felt in his life. Oh how his little heart leapt when at last he sighted in the distance four dark specks slowly moving up the valley. Gladder still was he when those specks turned out to be none other than Fili and Kili, dressed in fine new garments and stomping with great vigor past jagged rocky ledges and boulders. Behind them, the elder dwarves Bofur and wise Oin, carrying his packs of medicine, came rumbling and grumbling all the way. 

“Hallo! Hallo!” Bilbo waved his arms excitedly until he was sure they would fall off. “Fili! Kili!! Oin and Bofur! Hail and well met!”

Voices raised and cheerful noise rang through the barren valley. The two younger dwarves all but ran to greet him, so keen was their joy at the sight of their lost burglar. For all the fire and torment they had undoubtedly endured they were both bright of eye and clear of visage, so much that Bilbo had to wonder what miracles had occurred below while Smaug slithered through the forges. 

He would learn all much later when the weary party took their ease within the Great Hall of Thorin’s Grandfather, Thror. Fili and Kili were not to see their uncle for Bilbo had hardly a moment to mention the altered state of his mind. He was fit to burst in his desire to know how Kili had survived his ordeal and would speak no more of his own adventures until he knew theirs.

For his part, Kili took leave awhile as his brother began reminiscence of their escape. On a pallet of pelts and tribute from Ancient Elven Kingdoms did he find his rest. Gone was the dreadful pallor from his cheek and his leg, now packed with salves and leaves beyond description, no longer tormented him. Bilbo noted with no small relief that all signs of his past infirmity had vanished and the Prince's sleep was silent as the mountain itself.  


So it passed that Fili spoke first when all had gathered round with ample mug in hand and pipes aglow. For it is well known in Middle Earth that Dwarves relish tales of bravery round a fire as dear as gems or gold. Fili's noble voice echoed against the cavernous walls built by his kin and as he spoke it was clear to all he was indeed of Thorin's bloodline.

“My kinsmen you know me well and happy met are we once more. I am a constant solider, a sometime craftsman and forever defender of our House though readily I confess my youth has earned me little more than paltry verse. I have fought worthy battles alongside you--my cousins, uncles and friends—for the preservation of our bloodline. I have faced foes the likes of which would undo the Grey Wizard himself. Yet I have never known true fear until these days now past.”

As these words fell his voice grew solemn and a somber shadow cast across his face. Now did he speak of Kili, brother and charge, whom he had watched o'er throughout their quest.

“I had feared that day his last.” He said, seated now with pipe in hand. “No sooner had the barge vanished behind the mist when the foul wound overcame him and he swooned with fever and poison."

“Aye.” Oin supplied. “In all my years, I have not seen a hurt so grievous. The lad could barely foster his weight for the pain of it. Thorin’s forbearance on the wharf saved his life that day, as my beard is long.”

Bilbo faintly recalled their parting and the grief on Kili's young face when Thorin denied him leave to journey with them. Fili spoke on.

“I caught him as he fell and it was a blessing most unexpected that Bofur, too, remained behind for it took all our strength to bear him hither through the streets.”

Now Bofur, ready at his chance, took up their tale with fervor.

“We thought it all for the best and bore him swiftly back to the Master’s Hold but that bloated ignoble creature offered us no aid or shelter though clearly he witnessed our plight! Neither he nor his ratcatcher would be moved but turned us away! Though we implored and bribed, not a soul in the town would so much as speak to us!”

Bofur paused, as he would on countless occasions that night, to take a long pull from his goblet. The memory of dwarves stretches quite long and his throat would beg much wetting before his yarn met its end.

“The lad was in a wretched state, aye. As bad as I have ever seen a warrior felled. He was half dead by the time we arrived at the Bargeman's doorstep. Barely any blood warmed his cheek and his breath came fast and short.”

“Bard!” Cried Bilbo, not intending to interrupt but his wits had got the better of him. “Good old Bard! Of all the souls in Laketown, I knew he would not forsake us!”

“He was not altogether pleased at our meeting.” Fili admitted. “Yet when he looked upon my brother so sick in my arms, he quickly gave us shelter once more.”  


Bilbo thought on this. Perhaps the gentle eyes of his daughters had softened the Bargeman's heart or the memory of their beloved mother that had brought danger back again across his threshold. Whatever the case, kindness reigned in the heart of this humble man that would claim its own legacy in years to come. Now Oin resumed their tale for it was he who had tended Kili within Bard’s dwelling. It was he who had cleansed and cauterized the poisonous wound, who had assessed the blackened flesh made vile by the foul magic. It was he who held his battered trumpet against Kili’s breast to weigh every tortured breath and pump of his heart. Time was measured then in those frantic patterns and time was the only ally they had. For the old dwarf knew, as his kin feared, that Kili's life hung by a thread. He had unwisely concealed his illness from them for so long that darkness had claimed nearly every vein and vessel, obliterating the natural defense of his vigor.

“Kili was fading faster than I had learning to mend. Had we set him abed then he began thrashing about and raising such a clamor that I feared he would do himself more injury. The wee lass was frightened and took shelter behind her Father’s leg while we three strove to keep him abed. For many an hour's passing, his cries rang out to wake the dead and his eyes, when he opened them, held no memory of us, not even his closest kin.”

Fili recalled these words grimly and his gaze held a faraway look as though once more seeing the body of his brother lain out before him.

“It was a fearful time though we three had no thought to weaken our hearts. We would not leave his side whatever the end. His fever would not abate though we tried with all our skill to quench the unnatural flame and ease his suffering."

“Oh, poor Kili!” Bilbo’s thoughts escaped his tongue, so full was his heart. “The anguish he must have endured!”

“I thought my old back would break for the fight he gave us!” Bofur took another great pull on his ale. “Oin called for herbs, draughts, anything that might stall the sickness but the Lake man had nothing of use.”

Bilbo recalled then Bard’s wondrous pantry and his rows of exotic powders and extracts. Had there truly been no remedy to comfort the sick in such a house? Fili’s next words did answer him. 

“The sweet little maids did try. They picked through piles of leaves and berries and boiled up an earthen tea such as might hasten sleep.” He smiled faintly at the memory. “The eldest girl, Sigrid by name, offered me a bowl of it to effect for his struggles became less agitated after swallowing a little of the brew. Weariness took him at last and his agony, I prayed, calmed for a spell.”

“Feverfew and tree bark are all well and good for spider bites and head colds but this was an orc wound!” Oin continued gruffly. “I had learned long ago that the elves used a common weed to harbor their healing magic. It is called Kingsfoil in the common tongue and I know not its Elvish name but so desperate were we to battle for young Kili's life, that I made request of it.”

“Bard said then that men, in their wisdom, used such plants to fatten their pigs so off I stumbled into the night to seek out the nearest slop pile!” Bofur chortled into his cup. “By Durin’s Beard! To think I should have plucked our salvation from the grinding muzzle of a swine!”

His merry words drew quiet laughter from those gathered and well he might have continued in this rakish manner had not Fili taken up the remainder of the tale. 

“With aid of fair Sigrid’s remedy, my brother was at rest. But no sooner had I damped the sweat from his brow when a distant thunder was heard from the mountainside. Again and then again, a fearsome noise shook the foundations of the house until the smallest lass, Tilda, screamed: _O alas! We will be slain by the wicked dragon!_ ”

Bilbo remembered the sweet child who had secreted to Kili linens and medicine not long ago. ‘How awful,’ he thought to himself. ‘…To be a defenseless babe in the midst of such terror.”

“I urged the Bowman take leave, abandon this place and secret his children to safety but he would not. No instead, he did a far braver thing than I have witnessed among the men I have known in my time. He pulled down from his rafters an iron shaft and I saw that it was the deadly black arrow of legend. Then he swore before his children that he would kill the beast by his own hand.”  


Bilbo had to stay both hands from applauding the brave Guardsman of Laketown there and then but Fili’s words contiuned in earnest.

“Entrusted with the safety of his kin, Bard set out with bow and blade. Yet even as we watched and waited Bofur’s return, we found our perils to be endless indeed! Alas we were besieged by a fell legion of orcs at the very height of our troubles!”

Oin raised his voice. “O it was a violent night, friends! Never in all my memory has there been such disastrous turns of fate! From raging fevers, to maddened dragons to battles with orcs and nary more than bread knives to defend ourselves! How we survived to sit among you now will be the mystery of an age, I am still amazed of it!”

“That mystery had a name, I recall.” Bofur, his cheeks rose colored and his wicked grin flashing, recalled. “And pretty hands besides.”

“Tauriel.”

At that moment, all looked to find Kili risen from his bed. How long he had listened to the tale of his deliverance Bilbo could not guess but he took his place among those gathered, speaking words hushed in reverent memory.

“She came though I know not how or why. I trust not the dim veil of memory nor less my sight. The fever held me fast in its grip, dragging me under. I think I recall a skirmish, of stabbing and slashing, anything my feeble hands could grasp. It took more than what strength I had even to stand. I felled but one of the vile creatures then lay helpless like a fawn on the hardwood floor. The world around me seemed to vanish away, growing distant and dark. I knew somehow that my time grew nearer. Each breath drew harder than the last and a fell voice whispered in my mind. _Yield, all is done. Yield and fight no more._ ”

At these grim words Bilbo shuddered and Fili bowed his head. For now Kili spoke of death and defeat. Such would have been his end had not the grace of the Elvish (and Bofur’s swift legs) intervened.

“The elf maid, Tauriel. I thought her at first a dream, so addled was my mind. Flame and shadow played on my sight so surely she, too, was a conjured thing. She could not be by my side as I’d so longed for since our parting.” A shy smile played across his lips and his handsome features softened at the memory.

“Yet there she was, bathed in starlight, kneading in her hands the remedy which would drive away the taint in my body. My eyes saw nothing but darkness yet the pale vision of her alone conquered the evil eating away at my heart. My wound was unbound and I felt many hands bearing down upon me. I cried out, at least I must have, for voices all around entreated me to lie still.”

“Nearly knocked my teeth out ye did, Whelp!” Bofur cried. “You fought like the dragon himself clung to your back!”

“Your pardon, good Bofur.” Kili lowered his gaze and flushed. “I had not my senses about me.”

"Nor would I under the spell of so pretty a wench!"

“What of this Tauriel?” Dori, the youngest among them, piped up with eyes wide and wondering. “What enchantment did the elf witch cast?” 

“Witch she was not nor any such servant of darkness!” Fili's voice thundered so that all were hushed and still. “With these eyes I came to know the grace of the elves and come what may, no kingdom under me will cast out any of their fair race.”

Kili’s voice spoke now, distant and dreamlike, and all gathered round were moved by his words.

“If looking on her was indeed an enchantment, then it is one from which I long never to be free. Ah, how fair and wondrous was she! How can words properly describe what my eyes beheld that night? I tell you, I half expected to wake and find myself among the Halls of my Father. But no, she was there as real as you who now stand before me. The light of the stars danced in her eyes as she cast them on my wretchedness, her hands like cool water upon my breast. In my boldness and half in fantastical imagining, I dared lift a finger to touch a tendril of her hair, shining like the sun's final rays.”

Bilbo pictured in his mind the regal elf maid, tall and beautiful beyond compare, standing at Kili’s bedside whispering elvish incantations of healing. From Kili’s words he formed a vision of her ministrations, of cursed blood cleansed as a unicorn purifies tainted wellsprings. Of a fever vanquished by a single touch. Of ancient words falling like silver dew, driving away all darkness and despair. Beneath her gentle fingers Kili's trembling heart beat anew, reawakened and with earnest. He pictured Kili’s handsome face at peace in sleep, his wound closed and his brow cooled. Such were the wonders of elvish magic and so the miracle that had saved a Son of Durin that night.

“Seems to me that fever boiled your brains, laddie!” Gloin folded his giant arms gruffly, ever desirous to make his opinion heard. “Such gilded words, such poetry for a mere stripling of an elf! Such mockery has never been heard of among Dwarfkind!”

“Nay and so it shall never be again.” Kili whispered and to Bilbo, a strange sorrow weighed his words, as though he had lost something that could never be replaced. The sad humor did not linger about him long for he soon shook it off and a youthful grin lit his face once more.

“Well, here we all are, fit and hale!” He cried. “But by old Smaug’s tail, where is Uncle? Here we have told all our brave deeds with one among us missing! I’ve no wish to regale our glory a second time!”

At this, Thorin’s company exchanged uneasy glances and Fili and Kili were left bewildered. For some while none dared speak, a heaviness cast over them all. Bilbo at last found his words and he spoke them with dread in his heart.

“You will find Thorin much changed. He is locked away inside the treasure hall day and night. Come hither but approach him not for I fear what may come of it.”

Fili and Kili were at once on their feet, hastening down the winding stone staircase to the vast store of gold hidden deep within the mountain’s great belly. Torches lit the pathways below and Bilbo nearly tripped over himself keeping up with the rest of them. At last they stopped upon a ledge overlooking mounds and hills, valleys and dales of endless treasure but their eyes saw none of it.

“Thorin!” Fili shouted into the great hall. “Uncle, we have come!”

Silence loomed heavy like a storm above their heads and for a very long while nothing moved within the shining horde. Bilbo’s heart beat in measured thumps, his sight all but blinded by the dance of fire against gold. When at last Thorin King emerged from the counting chamber carved within the stone wall. In that silence, Thorin’s whisper spread fast over the mounds of treasure, heard clearly by all as though he now addressed his realm in its entirety.

“Gold…” Was all he uttered.

Fili and Kili could no nothing but stare in wonder and amazement, never having gazed upon the treasure of their ancestors. The glory of Durin's House lay before them which would one day be their rightful claim but never had they seen such splendor. They would have been but babes when Thorin and their kin were driven from Erebor and now they stood before a sight which paled their wildest imaginings and rent every whispered fable of their childhood to tatters. 

“Gold beyond measure.” Again Thorin’s voice filled the magnificent hall yet his gaze never once fell upon his nephews, nor Bilbo, nor his waiting subjects. “Beyond sorrow and grief.”

At last Thorin’s sight lifted from the treasure beneath his feet and he cast reckoning eyes upon the astonished faces of Fili and Kili. To Bilbo, it seemed as though he were seeing them for the first time in as many years as had passed days. 

“Behold the great treasure hold of Thror.”

Yet Fili and Kili stood motionless as statues, neither daring to breathe or so much as blink. In that instant a glittering arc shot forth from Thorin’s arm as he cast aloft a carven gemstone sharply aimed. Shaken from his stupor, Fili caught it and held it up for all to see. Within his trembling hands he now held one fragment of all the wealth of Dwarfkind and his face grew pale at the sight.

“Welcome my sister’s sons.” Thorin laid a hand over his heart. “To the Kingdom of Erebor.”

And now Thorin approached his nephews and to their eyes they beheld not Thorin Oakenshield, not even their beloved uncle but a King bedecked in royal ornament and stately raiment. How different he seemed to Bilbo now, how much less a dwarf and more a painted legend from a storybook. As Thorin climbed the final step, Kili’s strength failed him and he knelt before his uncle, weeping. Thorin raised him up with both hands and kissed his brow. When he spoke the madness seemed to leave him and he embraced his kinsmen.

“My sister’s sons—Fili and Kili—such treasures do I hold cheap against the blood of my kin!”

Wise Balin spoke then with one voice for all: "Long live the King! May his forges burn forever bright and his reign last ever longer!"

To Kili and Fili Thorin spoke once more. "We are the makers of our destiny. It is with our courage that we pay tribute to the memory of my Grandfather."

Cries of "Hail Thror!" and "Long live Thorin King" were heard among them. Bilbo felt tears welling hot in his eyes and he instantly regretted leaving his handkerchief behind in Hobbiton. He wept a great deal to witness Thorin reunited with all his kin, now at their original thirteen. What a bloody adventure they had been through and what a mad quest their paths had lead! For all their trouble and toil, for every bit of dragon fire and every cursed Orc battalion the line of Durin had prevailed. Bilbo’s heart in that moment rejoiced with the Company for in his very blood he carried the wisdom that rang true for all good creatures of Middle Earth. That no riches above or below could endure beyond loyalty of kin and no madness held stronger than the bonds between flesh and blood.

By habit, his hand ducked into his waistcoat, searching for any sort of scrap to dab his eyes with when his fingers froze on the smooth pale surface of a large and very smooth stone tucked deep within his pocket.

Bless him but that would be an entirely different blunder altogether…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m quite happy with the way this story turned out. I had originally intended to tell it no further than the arrival at Laketown but Kili’s suffering is quite a compelling element as many can attest. As for the title, I can’t say more than that I liked the word and could think of nothing better. Forges are where things get shaped, beaten and hammered into a product of the maker's liking. So, too, is it a symbol for Dwarves and a credit to their handiwork and heritage. At times the depiction of the dwarves in the films reminded me of little more than a roving pack of very short rugby fans with axes. This was amusing to be sure but not enough characterization for me to build a story on. Differentiating thirteen dwarves into their own unique characters is a daunting task and I am glad Jackson took it on seriously for he accomplished much. But this story is every bit about Bilbo's point of view and his perception of these characters and their adventures.
> 
> I was so impressed by Tolkien’s writing as well as Jackson’s vision that I felt more could be done to convey the thoughts and feelings each faced in their own internal battles. This was fun to write and I do love stories that write themselves. Nothing very new is being said. No great deviations, no kinky sex, no shocking revelations. But I wrote it in such a way that, in my view, lent itself to cinematic imagining. Jackson clearly loves his fans and his work and for all its faults, I can say I enjoyed the trilogy very much. If this story were an outtake on the very extended DVD, I’d have been the happiest fan alive. But then again, I can’t get everything I want. 
> 
> Therefore, I write. 
> 
> I hope you have enjoyed reading as much I have taken pleasure writing!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty basic when it comes to Hobbit Fanfiction. Sticking an arrow in the hottest dwarf was surely no accident. Jackson is on to me. I appreciate the culture contrast Jackson made between dwarves and hobbits. The love and loyalty Bilbo witnesses will become even more apparent as Kili battles his wound and the realization that he might not be invincible. I want to hurt Kili just as much as the next fan does and the call of Fili/Kili bro-ness is too classic to ignore.
> 
> But there are small moments in the extended DVD edition of my mind that meander. Those between scenes. Those non-existant dialogues I wish I’d heard. This fic exists because everyone needs a sandbox.


End file.
